


Mourner's Kaddish

by CoffeeRanger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeRanger/pseuds/CoffeeRanger
Summary: Captain America was the cornerstone of their team. He was their rock - their stability when everything else was shaking. He kept them together, helped them work through issues no one else had been able to, simply through his presence. Never had they thought that he was needing the same support. [No slash]





	1. Chapter 1

**A/n 1: In this story (and, indeed, likely in any further stories I might publish for this fandom), I am going with the idea that Steve is a practicing Jew. He is not perfect at it, but does his best. He learned to read Hebrew at his local synagogue (I had to learn a little bit for my coming-of-age ceremony in my congregation, and I feel like being able to read at least well enough to get by would have been important to Steve). That ability was increased with the serum. Now, Steve can fluently read and speak modern Hebrew and fluently read Biblical Hebrew. However, he has kept this to himself, and mainly uses it during his devotions and studies.**

**A/n 2: There is Hebrew in this fic. It is transliterated into English letters to make it easier to read/ignore. I provide English translations in italics, but Steve is not saying them, only the Hebrew.**

**A/n 3: The prayer Steve is saying at the beginning of the story is the Mourner’s Kaddish. In my congregation, this prayer is said communally each Sabbath. Those who are remembering the death of a loved one stand and recite the main portions with one of our Elders, while the rest of the congregation provides support for them. I have always found comfort in that method, and so decided Steve’s congregation did the same. There is no “right” way to pray this prayer (that I am aware of), and do not mean for this story to insinuate that this is the only way to recite this prayer.**

**Towards the end (the Hebrew is in BOLD with translations still in _italics_ ), Steve switches to Psalms 88. I skipped around quite a bit, to find the verses that *really* applied to Steve. However, the entire chapter is absolutely heart-wrenching and I recommend reading it.   **

**A/n 4: I am quite new to the Marvel fandom, and so I _know_ I will make mistakes when it comes to plot lines here and there. I try to do as much research as I can in and around RL and college. However, this is fanfiction, and I’m having fun. Constructive criticism is appreciated, especially if it helps me fix said plot line mistakes. However, flames will be used to roast the marshmallows and hot dogs my Plot Bunnies enjoy sometimes. :D**

**A/n 5: I think that’s everything (I hope!). :/ If you have any questions/concerns, drop me a note and I will do my best to clear things up.**

 

**A MASSIVE THANK YOU, to my friend for her help with this story. If it hadn’t been for her, this story either would have sat neglected for far too long or would not have been written in the first place. You are the best, my friend!**

**Disclaimer: Don’t own them. Though, my friend and I are contemplating staging a mission to kidnap most of the characters so they can receive love and affection for once.**

**~~~~ Line Break ~~~~**

“Yit'gadal v'yit'kadash sh'mei raba b'al'ma di v'ra khir'utei.”

 

The words filled the almost empty room. A lone man sat in one of the unused rooms of the Avenger Tower. His hands were clasped in front of him, elbows on his knees. His head was bowed and his shoulders slumped. The lights in the room were off, but the lights of New York twinkled in through the window. They cast a mix of shadows and glow along the wall at his side, catching the highlights in his blond hair and dancing in the depths of his blue eyes. The man hated it.

 

_May His Great Name grow exalted and sanctified in the world that He created as He willed._

 

There should have been a chorus of voices filling the space at the end of the sentence, voices to fill the gaps when his own voice broke. He should have been surrounded by people ready and willing to help him through this time. People who carried the same grief, the same crushing ache, that someone so dear was gone. People who had known and loved the lost man as much as he did.

 

“V'yam'likh mal'khutei b'chayeikhon uv'yomeikhon uv'chayei d'khol beit yis'ra'eil ba'agala uviz'man kariv.”

 

_May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days, and in the lifetimes of the entire family of Israel, swiftly and soon._

 

He didn’t have to think about the words, they flowed too easily from his lips. He wanted to cry, desperately needed the release the tears would offer. But his eyes were dry.

 

He had lost too many people during his life – even before the War. But during it, it seemed he had said the prayer every night. Used it to ground himself in the here-and-then instead of the list of names belonging to the men he had failed.

 

“Y'hei sh'mei raba m'varakh l'alam ul'al'mei al'maya.”

 

_May His Great Name be blessed forever and ever._

 

It had been hard to then. His faith and trust was lost a bit more with each life lost, as the horrors he fought against seemed to grow bigger, the powers that backed them stronger. It was still hard to think about praising and blessing the One who had taken so much from him.

 

He knew he was bordering on blasphemy. But he could not understand why everyone he loved was dead, and he still alive. He did not understand why he had not died when he drove the plane into the ice. He could not understand his purpose in this world.

 

He had gone through this same thing when his mother had died. Had felt the same bone-deep ache he was experiencing now. But then, he had had Bucky to draw him out – to pull him back from the abyss he had been staring into.

 

“Yit'barakh v'yish'tabach v'yit'pa'ar v'yit'romam v'yit'nasei v'yit'hadar v'yit'aleh v'yit'halal sh'mei d'kud'sha B'rikh hu.”

 

_Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, might, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One. Blessed is He._

Now, though, there was no one. Just him. And he didn’t know if he could do it. Sure, he put on an act for the country, held it together for the team. He had to. He was Captain America, leader of the Avengers. He could not break. Yet, as each day passed, a new piece inside of him – deep inside, where no one could see – did.

 

**“Adonai, Elohay, y’shooatee. Yom tza’ak’tee va’lay’la neg’decha. Tavo l’fanecha t’feelatee hatay az’n’cha l’reenatee.”**

 

_O Lord God of my salvation, what time I cry in the night before you. Let my prayer come before you, incline Your ear unto my cry._

 

He didn’t realize he had switched prayers until a few words in. The words of the Psalm were fitting. He couldn’t remember why he had memorized it or even when. He was glad he had though.

 

“Cap?”

 

**“Shatanee b’vor tach’teeyot, b’machashakeem beem’tzolot. Alay samcha chamatecha v’chol-meesh’barecha eeneeta. Selah. Heer’chak’ta m’yooda’eye meemenee shatanee toy** **ay’vot lamo kaloo v’lo aytzay.”**

 

_Thou hast laid me in the nethermost pit, in dark places, in the deeps. Your wrath lies hard on me, and all Your waves You press down. Selah You have put my acquaintance far from me; You have made me an abomination unto them; I am shut up, and I cannot come forth._

Tears finally came, and he slipped from the chair onto his knees. **“K’rateecha Adonai b’chol-yom. Sheevach’tee aylecha chapa.”**

 

_I have called upon You, O Lord, every day. I have spread forth my hands unto You._

“Steve?”

 

**“Hay’soopar bakever chas’decha emoonatcha baavadon?”**

 

_Shall Thy mercy be declared in the grave? Or They faithfulness in destruction?_

 

His soul cried out for an answer. If peace and mercy could only be found in death, why had it been kept from him? What had he done to deserve to be cut off like this? What sin was he still atoning for which required his continued existence, this continuous struggle and fight against the evils of the world.

 

“Lamah azovata otee?” _Why have You left me_?


	2. Chapter 2

Clint walked silently through the back hallways of the Avenger tower. The rest of the team was up in the kitchen/living room/ dining room/all-around catchall room hanging out.  He had originally been with them, however between Thor’s booming voice and Tony’s endless chatter it got in a bit much and he gone to find some quiet.

He had taken the elevator to the fourth floor.  On one of his late-night excursions after having just moved into the tower, he found the best room for viewing the city (and for peace and quiet from the rest of the tower) was to be found there.  It was tucked away in a back corner and had looked like no one was using it, so he quickly claimed it for himself.

He pushed open the door to the room and breathed a sigh of relief. That was until he noticed the form of a large man sitting in a chair near the window. Clint quickly ran through the list of people hanging out upstairs and cursed when he realized that Steve was missing.  Though with how quiet that man was, it wasn’t hard to forget he was in the room.

“Cap, is everything alright? Didn’t mean to walk in on you like that.  Usually this room is empty.  Came to get away from the noise upstairs too, huh?”

His brow furrowed when the other man didn’t react at all.  Clint took a step forward.

“Cap?”

“ _Yeet’barach v’yeesh’tabach v’yeet’paar v’yeetromam v’yeet’nasay v’yeet’hadar v’yeet’aleh v’yeet’halal sh’may d’kood’sha. B’reech hoo._ ”

His worry increased when he heard the words the other man was whispering.  He couldn’t understand what Steve was saying. However, it wasn’t hard to miss the sorrow in Steve’s words.

Clint looked back-and-forth between Steve and the doorway. He need to get help. Usually Steve was the most observant of their group. He claimed it was because the serum he had been given enhanced his hearing. So the fact that he hadn’t reacted at all when he had come in, or when he spoke to him screamed that something was wrong.

He wasn’t sure what to do to help Steve and was afraid of making it worse.  From the sound of his voice, the Captain was teetering on the edge. He knew from experience that it didn’t take much to send some people over when they were like this.

“ _Adonai, Elohay, y’shooatee. Yom tza’ak’tee va’lay’la neg’decha. Tavo l’fanecha t’feelatee hatay az’n’cha l’reenatee._ ”

“Cap?”

Clint took a few steps closer hoping that Steve would notice him, and his presence would bring him back from wherever his brain had taken him.  It didn’t work though.  Steve just seem to descend further and further into himself.

“ _Shatanee b’vor tach’teeyot, b’machashakeem beem’tzolot. Alay samcha chamatecha v’chol-meesh’barecha eeneeta. Selah. Heer’chak’ta m’yooda’eye meemenee shatanee toyay’vot lamo kaloo v’lo aytzay_.”

Clint’s eyes widened even further when Steve slipped from the chair and crashed his knees, tears streaming down his face.  The younger man buried his face in his knees, bringing his hands up to cover his head.

“ _Hay’soopar bakever chas’decha emoonatcha baavadon_?”

Clint cursed again. He took a few steps back, but stopped near the doorway. There was no way he could leave the kid – for that’s what Steve was if he slowed down long enough to actually think about it. But he had no idea what to do to help him. Ever since the Chintarri attack had brought them together as a team, they had come to rely on Steve as their cornerstone. He kept them grounded when their differences threatened to pull them apart. He could always be trusted to keep his cool, no matter how long the day or how annoying Tony got. It had never really occurred to Clint that Steve could be dealing with his own problems. Now that oversight was costing them, for he had no way to help their leader when he needed it the most.

“Sir will be here in three minutes.”

Clint jumped when Jarvis’s voice sounded quietly next to his ear.

“Jarvis, what…”

“I have been programmed to alert Sir when the Captain becomes like this.”

Clint’s horror grew, “It’s happened before? Why hasn’t he said something?”

“The Captain has not spoken of his reasons.”

Clint turned to look back at Steve. He had not moved from his position kneeling on the ground, though words continued to tumble from his lips. What reason could he have for keeping such pain from them? Did he not trust them?

That thought made him pause. Trust. Had they ever given Steve cause to trust them? They relied on him for so much, and he was always willing to give what assistance he could. But had they made it clear that he could rely on them in the same way? He had always assumed that Steve understood the offer of assistance ran the opposite direction as well. But standing there, seeing him on his knees looking as if he was being crushed by the weight of the world, Clint realized that it had not been as apparent as he had assumed.

He was about to go over to Steve when the door to the room burst open. Clint whirled, hand moving to grip the knife hidden in his waistband. Tony stood in the doorway, puffing slightly. His gaze quickly raked over Clint before settling on the man kneeling at the far end of the room. His face paled.

“How long’s he been like this?”

“Not sure.” Clint answered, relaxing his stance. “I found him like this about 5 minutes ago. I was about to –“  He stopped talking when he realized that Tony had stopped paying attention to him. The other man’s attention had moved back to focus solely on Steve.

“J, turn the lights up to 30% and turn the heat up in here. Not too much though.” Tony pointed at Clint. “Don’t go anywhere, but back off. Steve doesn’t take well to others seeing him like this.”

Clint backed off as he was told. He slipped into the shadows at a corner of the room where he was just out of eyeshot of the far side of the room, but near enough that he could hear what was going on. Tony, in turn, walked slowly over to Steve.

“Steve?” He called. “Steve, can you hear me?”

Steve still didn’t answer, even though there was no way he could _not_ have heard Tony. His hands fisted tighter in his hair.

“Steve, it’s Tony. You’re in the Tower – in New York. It’s 2012.”

Tony kept his tone gentle and the volume low. Clint watched as he knelt by the super-soldier, his every move projected before he made it, giving Steve time to register what was happening so that he didn’t freak out. Clint knew how damaging and disorienting it could be for someone to suddenly come crowding into your personal space when you were locked inside your head. He was surprised Tony knew that and seemed to know what to do to help Steve.

In fact, the longer he watched Tony, the more surprised he became. After his initial comments, Tony seemed content to simply _be_ there next to Steve. His hand was on the younger man’s shoulder, but his body was far enough away that Steve could get away quickly if he needed to. It reminded Clint of the few times Steve had found him in the midst of a flashback/shutdown during the aftermath of Loki’s attack a few months prior.

There had been only a few people he trusted well enough at that time to ask for help. One of those people had been Phil. Phil whom they had buried because he hadn’t been able to fight the control of the blackguard who had _used_ him. The other was Natasha. And he couldn’t – wouldn’t – go to her. She hid it, but he knew her well enough to know that she was still hurt deeply by Phil’s death. Even though she told him that she didn’t blame him, he knew his presence brought up bad feelings and refused to force it and his mess on to her.

And so, he suffered alone. Keeping himself awake until the early hours of the morning in hopes of keeping the nightmares and memories at bay, staying up in the rafters and vents of the Stark Tower, where he couldn’t hurt anyone. Sometimes he’d sneak into the communal living room/dining room/kitchen area of the Tower to catch what shut-eye he could on the couch or to make himself yet another mega-mug of coffee, but those times were rare.

It had been on one of those rare occasions that Steve found him. He’d been jerked awake to the memories of attacking his fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. members, to the feel of his bow in his hands, the sound of Loki’s laugh in his mind. He’d been doing good for a few days, so the suddenness of the assault had startled him, and he’d been unable to shake it off as he usually was. As a result, Steve had found him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, trying desperately to drive the psychopath’s face from his mind.

Steve hadn’t tried to console him, hadn’t offered vague, empty promises about how it _would get better_ with time. He had simply gone into the kitchen, made two cups of hot chocolate, and then sat nearby as Clint pulled himself together enough to sip at his. And so it continued each time he found himself unable to sleep. No matter where he was, Steve would show up, two cups of hot chocolate in hand, and understanding in his eyes. Clint had always assumed that Jarvis woke the Captain up – something he had been grateful for though he rarely said it. Now, he wondered if Steve hadn’t been up at those off hours because he was fighting demons of his own.

Clint clenched his jaw as he turned his attention back to Tony and Steve. All those times, Steve had been able to help him, to drag him back from the dark depths of his mind. But now, when he needed the same assistance, when he needed someone to come alongside him and give him a helping hand, what had he been able to do? Squat.

The sound of Steve taking a deep shuddering breath drew Clint out of his memories. The tension in Tony’s shoulders melted away with that small action. He turned back to Clint.

“Will you go get a glass of water and a box of tissues?”

Clint nodded, “He going to be all right?”

“Not immediately, but he’s coming out of it. Hurry up.”

Clint nodded, “I’ll be right back.”

He rushed out of the room and up to his floor’s kitchen. Grabbing the largest cup he owned, he filled it at the tap. Snagging the box of tissues from off the coffee table in his living room, he started back.

He could only hope that Tony had been able to pull Steve back from wherever his mind had sent him. That tony had been able to gain his attention, so that they’d – he’d – have an opportunity to help his friend the same way Steve had helped him.

He had lost too much during his lifetime. Lost too much in the last few months. There was no way short of him dying that he was going to allow someone he was beginning to count as a friend slip when he could have done something.


End file.
